the wheel

A late night meeting in the digital netherworld, screens, whisky and wine bridging the time difference, time itself cast aside easily, as it always is. There's an initial layer of frustration, tainted by assessments of the pandemic, some variation of survivor's guilt as we discuss the reactions of government here and there, of life as an essential worker, of finally getting tested two days ago and then again yesterday. The lockdown and the Tory press floating the idea of loosening restrictions, another lunacy vacuous of explanation and justification, old myths rising, populist variations carried upon tabloids of stone. We touch upon the resurrection of De Piffle Paffle, the sun god of the hour or just another shapeshifting charlatan - vampirical, unable to stand the glare of the spotlight. The cynic in me wonders if it's an attempt to distance himself from the responsibility for the shitstorm which his government's policies have unleashed, illness and birth to be used as shields while he disappears behind the facade of a cabinet lacking grace or talent, deportation flights departing under the radar.

But the immediacy of these politics are soon gone, forming one thread of many woven through this night and countless others where thoughts spill unguarded from the tongue. It's a place outwith geography, a sanctuary where only our truths can exist, too long a friendship to get away unchallenged from bullshit or misdirection and rarely safe from a well aimed barb. What I remember of it involves the first stirrings of a plot to return to Wien for Mayday next year if the world allows such things, Dylan's new song, uninhibited conversation stretching into the early hours, prose succeeded by poetry, weaving threads of Li Po and Du Fu via Basho and Teenage Fanclub, sharing songs and solitude and recognising that the song is stronger. Grace notes and counterpoints, expanding names, filling in blanks, hours beginning to slur across slightly blurring screens.


Being a Human Being


not to be complicit
not to accept everyone else is silent it must be alright

not to keep one's mouth shut to hold onto one's job
not to accept public language as cover and decoy

not to put friends and family before the rest of the world
not to say I am wrong when you know the government is wrong

not to be just a bought behaviour pattern
to accept the moment and fact of choice

I am a human being
and I exist

a human being
and a citizen of the world

responsible to that world
—and responsible for that world

Tom Leonard



And then eyes open into the newish day, the skull clad in rags and telling a tale of too much whisky, too late a night for to be risen yet. And the heat's returned, vengeful humidity clogging the air, clothes salt encrusted from a short walk for some food piled high with chilli as if I needed help to sweat out the toxins. Later we set off for Shillin, a treat of smoked plum shaved ice from a specific small shop hidden in a narrow alley, Formica tables bringing up images of late nights in Cafe Ilsa in Wien, of newsreels from the 1950's. Almost walking up a local hill to a sunset place but the humidity has increased further, any and all movement gathering a sheen of moisture upon the skin, deciding to seek out somewhere with aircon as the sky darkens colourless, the faint promises flickering upon wisps of red cloud vanishing in the blink of an eye.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdeqYx-9-AQ